


Harry Potter and the Mirror of Instased

by LibraFolie



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Crookshanks is Insta-famous, Fame, Gen, Harry and Ron basically just play Quidditch all the time, Hogwarts, Humor, Quidditch, Satire, Social Issues, Social Media
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:15:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27783592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LibraFolie/pseuds/LibraFolie
Summary: Harry finds a mysterious mirror at Hogwarts that shows the most glamorous moments in the lives of people he knows. Little does he know how much it will come to consume his days.
Relationships: Albus Dumbledore & Harry Potter, Gilderoy Lockhart & Harry Potter, Harry Potter & Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger & Harry Potter, Hermione Granger & Harry Potter & Ron Weasley
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	Harry Potter and the Mirror of Instased

**Author's Note:**

> My first story on AO3. Many thanks to @JustAnotherBlonde for the feedback and beta read!

Harry’s face was still flush from Quidditch practice, his spirits high as he made his way up the narrow spiral staircase, broom in hand. He had stayed after practice to work on a few agility drills, and had decided to take one of his favorite lesser-known shortcuts back to the Gryffindor common room.

He was surprised to find an open door directly off the stone staircase. Harry had never noticed it before; perhaps it had always been closed or concealed, or perhaps it had never been there at all. Curiosity got the better of him, and he decided to explore.

Harry walked through the door to a small room that was empty other than a shoulder-height, square-shaped mirror affixed to the wall. At first he only saw his own face in the clouded glass as he slowly approached. But then other forms began to appear, suddenly swimming into sharp, colorful definition. The first image was of Fleur in an elegant blue dress, sitting perched on an upholstered chair in what appeared to be some sort of Parisian café next to a tower of perfect-looking teacakes. The scene suddenly changed to Draco in a fur-lined parka in a snowy forest, petting a Siberian tiger he’d entranced. Harry was puzzling over what could possibly be connecting the images when the scene shifted again, to Cho Chang lounging on some tropical island.

As more and more photos appeared of his friends and acquaintances, Harry was bewildered at the unending stream of sparkling beaches and gorgeous sunsets. It seemed like everyone was traveling to exotic locales. Everyone, that was, except Harry.

Harry looked out the steepled window at the rolling English countryside, capped with a nondescript grey sky. He had never even left the UK.

The mirror settled on an image of a smiling Bill Weasley off the coast of Croatia, the sunlight sparkling off of a dragon’s scales in the background. His short sleeves revealed his sculpted arms. Harry thought of his own skinny arms.

It was getting dark in the room. Harry wondered where his post-Quidditch high had gone. He’d better be heading back to Gryffindor tower.

“Literally everyone is on vacation except for us,” Harry announced to Ron and Hermione as he burst into the common room that evening.

“What are you talking about, Harry?” said Ron.

“I discovered something this afternoon,” said Harry. “A mirror that shows you images from other people’s lives.”

“The Mirror of Instased,” Hermione supplied. Harry could already detect a note of disapproval in her voice. “It shows the viewer the most glamorous moments in the lives of people you know, shot only from flattering angles. Then there are the ads. It’s proven to be dangerous for mental health, especially for adolescents, so Dumbledore’s hidden it in a room on the third floor.”

 _Okay, Hermione,_ Harry thought bitterly, choosing not to dignify Hermione’s judgey diatribe with a response. Little did Harry know that Hermione had been persistently targeted with images of witches in crop tops drinking weight-loss pumpkin juice when she had looked into the Mirror of Instased, and had adopted an aggressive ab workout regimen ever since.

“It’s not real life, Harry,” Hermione insisted. “At first it’s sort of soothing to see so many pretty images, but then you start to feel like your own life is inadequate. But it’s just _selections_ of other people’s lives, and sometimes people take dozens of photos just to find one that’s perfect enough to post.”

“Hermione’s only bitter that Crookshanks isn’t good-looking enough for the Mirror,” Ron teased.

“Shut up, Ron,” Hermione snapped.

The following afternoon after Potions class, Harry led Ron up to the room where the Mirror of Instased stood. Part of him already knew that this was a bad idea, but Harry ignored that part. He was sure the Mirror would give them plenty to discuss.

This time, the Mirror showed Harry images of various parties and social gatherings. There were the Weasley twins hanging out with a dozen impossibly hip-looking friends. There was even an image of three members of the Quidditch team toasting butterbeers at Hogsmeade to celebrate their latest Quidditch victory. Why hadn’t they invited Harry? Sure, Harry wasn’t, like, _super_ close with any of them, but it would have been nice to be asked. Come to think of it, Harry only really had two close friends in his year. Four if you counted Luna and Neville. He hadn’t really seen a problem with this until now, but suddenly his tight-knit social circle seemed rather meager.

Harry looked over at Ron, who appeared even more miserable. Harry should have guessed. Knowing about all of his siblings’ professional, social, and romantic accomplishments was one thing; watching image after image of their success must have been torture.

“Come on, Ron,” Harry finally said. “Let’s go practice some Quidditch.”

The following morning at breakfast, Harry decided to see how many other Gryffindors knew about the mirror. “Have you guys heard of… erm… the Mirror of Instased?” he asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Uh, yeah, _obviously,_ ” Parvati Patil responded from across the table. “I just posted a photo of my pumpkin juice.”

“Wait,” Harry said. “You can choose what images appear?”

“That’s the whole _point,_ ” Lavender chimed in. “Then people follow you so they see more of your photos. You don’t even need a camera, you can just snap the images with your wand.”

“I’ve been on it a bit,” Seamus said. “I didn’t really get into it. But Neville has thirty thousand followers!”

Harry almost stood from his seat. _Neville_ had thirty _thousand_ followers?

“Well, I mostly post pictures of magical plants,” Neville said, blushing a bit. “That’s nothing though, compared to how many followers Crookshanks has.”

Harry and Ron’s jaws dropped in unison as Hermione smiled modestly.

“But wait,” Harry said, “if there’s just one mirror, how are thousands of wizards and witches checking it?”

Lavender unpocketed a small, square-shaped mirror that fit neatly in the palm of her hand. “There’s more than one mirror. In fact, now they make portable varieties.”

“Dumbledore’s banned them too, _technically,_ ” said Parvati, “but that hasn’t stopped half the school from picking them up in Diagon Alley.”

Ron turned to Hermione, aghast. “Where’s your lecture on rule-following?”

“Oh, Ron, don’t be so naïve,” Hermione said, impassively sipping her tea. Harry and Ron exchanged an astonished look.

Harry stewed in his thoughts as he shoveled down his scrambled eggs. Just one week before, he hadn’t known the Mirror of Instased existed. Now, he felt he would languish in social obscurity if he didn’t get his act together. _You’re already famous,_ said a reasonable voice in his head that sounded a lot like Hermione’s. All his life, he’d wanted to be a normal kid, but now he wanted more than anything to have thirty thousand followers on Instased.

Luckily, Ron was just as desperate to establish his Instased presence as Harry was. So from then on, they snapped Instased photos of all of their activities- playing chess, getting sweets at Hogsmeade, transfiguring pens into grasshoppers. Harry thought it was going well- both of their humble Instased followings were climbing steadily. They were far from Neville levels of fame, but Harry figured everyone had to start somewhere.

A few weeks later, after dinner, Harry and Ron strode onto the Quidditch pitch. It was a clear, calm evening- perfect for practicing Quidditch, and even more perfect for snapping silhouette shots against the sunset.

“Ron, get ready! Ron, are you paying attention?” Harry called down as he prepared for yet another nose-dive on his broom.

But Ron was looking glum. “Can we get back to practicing Quidditch instead of taking _photos_ of practicing Quidditch?” he called back.

Harry heaved an exasperated sigh as he descended to the ground. “We can do both at the _same time,_ Ron,” he said annoyedly.

Ron stared back at him with bored, tired eyes. “Remember when practicing flying used to be _fun?_ ”

“It’s still fun,” Harry lied. “But now we’re just taking pictures of the fun, so other people can _know_ we’re having fun.”

“Well, take your own pictures,” Ron said. “I’m going back inside.”

“What? Ron,” Harry sputtered. “You’re the one who’s always going on about how famous I am. Now _both_ of us can be famous.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Ron deadpanned. “This is way too much work. Have fun making friends on Instased.”

Harry watched Ron make his way across the lawn towards the castle, feeling like a jerk. He thought about what Ron had said. Since when had their days become one long stream of photo shoots? And _was_ he having much fun anymore?

That night, Harry dreamt he was in detention in Lockhart’s office. Lockhart was sitting beside him, signing books and then handing them to Harry to sign. As Harry signed his name on the inner cover of a book, just below Lockhart’s signature, he stopped. “Professor,” he said, turning to Lockhart, “Why am _I_ signing if they’re your books?”

Lockhart chuckled in his aggravating way. “Harry, Harry, _Harry,_ ” he said, without looking up from signing. “Because you’ve earned it. I’ve taught you everything I know, and I couldn’t be more proud that you’re finally following my advice.”

Harry blinked in consternation. “Your… _what?_ ” He couldn’t recall a single thing Lockhart had ever said that would qualify as sound advice.

“Look at you, Harry,” Lockhart continued, handing him another book. Harry opened the cover and signed it, as if by second nature. “You’re finally learning how to handle fame! I bet plenty of attractive young witches and wizards liked that last photo from the Quidditch pitch. Give the people what they want, Harry. I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a million times.”

Harry didn’t actually recall Lockhart saying that, though he didn’t doubt it. “But I’m not trying to be a celebrity,” he protested. “I’m just trying to be…”

“Popular?” Lockhart supplied. He handed Harry another book. “That’s what I told myself when I was your age, Harry. Then I stopped kidding myself. And although you and your little friend…” Lockhart paused and lifted his quill to his lips. “What was his name? Don? Dan…?”

“Ron,” Harry said angrily.

“That’s the one,” Lockhart said, flourishing his quill. “I never forget my most mediocre students. Even though you and _Ron_ may have wiped my memory, I take heart in the fact that my sparkling intellect continues to manifest itself through you. Although I’m afraid I can’t impart my impossibly good looks quite so easily.” Lockhart chuckled, shaking his head in admiration of his own wittiness.

Suddenly, Harry realized that they weren’t in Lockhart’s office at all. They were in the back of Flourish and Blotts. The bookstore was packed with people, all clamoring for them to sign their copies of Lockhart’s books.

“I shouldn’t be here,” Harry said. “I want to leave.”

“You can’t leave, Harry,” Lockhart said, the corner of his lip twisting upward as he signed another book. “We’re in the Mirror now.”

“What?” Harry looked up again. He and Lockhart were still sitting at the desk, but now they were floating alone in a sea of black.

“No!” Harry cried. “ _Nooo!_ ”

“Harry. _Harry!_ ”

Harry jolted awake, panting as if he’d run a mile. A blinding beacon of light shone beside him.

“Ron?” Harry said, squinting as he raised a hand to block the light.

“No. It’s me.” Neville shone the wand on his face.

Harry exhaled, falling back onto his pillows. “Don’t scare me like that,” he said, rather unkindly.

“I’m sorry, Harry,” Neville said, “you were just… thrashing around and… it seemed like you were having a nightmare.” Neville’s eyes widened. “Is it… _Voldemort?_ ”

“For once, no,” Harry said. “Just Lockhart.”

“Oh,” Neville said doubtfully.

“Go back to bed, Neville.”

“Sure,” Neville said, hesitating a moment before returning to his own four-poster bed.

Harry clapped a hand to his forehead, which was covered in clammy sweat. Maybe it was time to take a break from the Mirror.

Harry awoke the following morning feeling as if he had hardly slept at all. He told himself he wouldn’t visit the Mirror that day. But even the lingering memory of his nightmare wasn’t enough to keep him away for long. All he needed was a quick peek, just to check up on his latest posts. _It won’t take long._

That evening, after Charms class, Harry returned to the room with the mirror. To his surprise, he found Dumbledore standing in front of it, chuckling to himself.

“P- Professor Dumbledore?” Harry said. “Sorry if I’m disturbing you…”

“Not at all, Harry,” Dumbledore said mildly, still gazing into the mirror. “I was just admiring some lemon tortes. The sugar work on them is quite superb.”

“Professor… _you_ have an Instased?” Harry said, surprised.

“Yes of course, Harry,” said Dumbledore. “I particularly enjoy the images of confections. Though there are some wonderful photos of knitted socks.”

“But… Hermione said you’d hidden the mirror on purpose because it was bad for adolescent mental health,” Harry said.

“There is that,” Dumbledore said lightly. “But students still manage to find their way here. I’ve just made it slightly less convenient for them.”

Harry pieced together the headmaster’s message. “So you’re saying _some_ Instased is okay, as long as we’re in control of it?”

“I’m afraid it’s time for my evening chamomile tea,” Dumbledore suddenly announced. “I’m sorry to cut our conversation short. Do enjoy your time with the Mirror, Harry.”

As the headmaster departed, humming a merry tune to himself, Harry was reminded of another wise saying of Dumbledore’s, concerning a different mirror. _It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live._


End file.
